Chapter Text
The teen boy with wavy brown bangs that fell all over his face glanced at Grace curiously while looking up from his sketchbook. Grace smiled her signature smile at him, the one she liked to use to put younger people at ease.
“Hi, I’m Grace.” She waved at him. “You must be Alex.”
He waved back cautiously. “... Hello.” he managed to squeak out, before returning to sketch feverishly, trying to pay her no mind.
Simon conversed with Alex in French. The kid was far more confident now, either because of the language, or because he was speaking to a relative. Probably both. Shortly after that, he ran off upstairs to his room.
“So dinner will be ready in about an hour, maybe less.”
“Cool.”
“Don’t mind Alex, he’s just shy, and also doesn’t speak much English.”
“Oh, I figured.”
“Hmm. If only Nathalie was here. She’s fluent in both languages. Actually, I think you’d get along really well with her.”
The unseen Nathalie. Grace wondered what she was like. Perhaps they would get to meet properly once they’re in Montreal for the concert.
They both took a seat on the couch in the living room. Grace still felt quite at ease in this quaint little house, even though she knew it harboured someone out for her blood. The dichotomy of Simon’s aunt and Simon’s mother was a strange situation to deal with. She had yet to encounter this from the family of any of her other friends. Of course, there was a distinct difference between Simon, and Grace’s other friends. None of them had ever boarded an inter-dimensional train, as far as she knew anyway. Grace thought back to the conversations they had about their parents as kids. She didn’t remember him mentioning anything weird about his mother, other than the fact that she was a single parent. It was alarming to be confronted with how much the loss of a child could change someone. Her own parents had changed as well during her long absence. They had, in their own ways, become less strict towards her... somewhat. And as politicians, they actually started focusing more on social issues rather than simply seeking the approval of rich campaign donors. However, whatever happened to Simon’s mother was on an entirely different level. She shouldn’t press the issue, though; it would be rude.
“Yeah, so I think I should explain the situation with my family a bit more.” Simon’s words startled her. It was as if he could read her mind. Well, maybe it wasn’t that surprising. They did spend about eight years on a giant metal death trap, with mostly only each other for company.
“Look, you really don’t have to. I know it’s difficult.”
“No, I think I owe it to you. At least as long as you’re visiting.” He looked her in the eyes for a brief moment, and took a deep breath. “Ever since my, uh, disappearance, my mom has kind of...lost it.”
“You wrote that in your email, right?”
He nodded. “Well I didn’t really go into detail.” He fiddled with the gloves on his hands. “My mom has always had issues trusting people. She was already a bit unstable after my dad left, but I didn’t realize it at the time because I was just a kid. It wasn’t anywhere close to how she is today, at least. But then, once I disappeared, something just snapped. She couldn’t handle it… to the point where she put her own life in danger.” His entire body tensed as he mentioned that. “That’s why she has to live here with my aunt’s family.”
“Whoa.” Grace felt ashamed at her empty utterance. Did she really not have anything else to say? She needed to reassure him somehow, so she took his hand again. As soon as she did, he squeezed it tight. She wasn’t sure if it was a conscious reaction on his part.
“It’s been really hard on them. Most days she hardly leaves her room. Her emotional episodes come unpredictably, and without much warning. Whenever she’s functionally lucid and has the energy to do anything, she usually spends it on those nasty conspiracy websites full of the worst kinds of misinformation.” Grace’s worst fears were confirmed. His mother really was one of those white people. But the way that he talked about her, and how much her illness had affected her judgement, Grace couldn’t help but feel sorry for that poor woman.
He took another shaky breath. “The mom that I knew as a kid, she’s gone. For good. And it’s my fault.” He looked so utterly defeated. He sat there with his back hunched, head lowered, and loose strands of hair hanging limply in front of his face. Even his unkempt overgrown beard added to his vulnerability.
“The worst part is, I forced her presence on Nathalie and Alex. Can you imagine that? When my mom crashed into their lives, Nathalie must have been eight or nine, and Alex, well, he was only a toddler. They grew up with a severely mentally-ill relative living in their house twenty-four seven. At least their father was still alive back then, so it wasn’t all bad.”
He looked at Grace again, full of regret. “And now, they have to deal with me.” His expression turned resolute. “One day, I’ll save up enough money to move out of my aunt’s house. I’ll rent an apartment somewhere with my mom. Then I’ll be the only person that’ll have to put up with her, and she’ll be the only person to put up with me. That’s my plan for the future.”
To Grace, his plan sounded so bleak. Did Simon really think that was all that the future held for him? “Wait, is that why you don’t wanna go to college?”
“What?” He blinked in surprise. “No. Look, that’s really complicated. There’s a myriad of reasons.” He stared at his hands for a brief moment. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” She understood, and backed off the topic.
Dinner was surprisingly uneventful. Simon’s mother locked herself in her room, which was a relief to everybody, as that was the least confrontational reaction possible from her. Isabelle baked something called a “tourtière”, a sort of ground meat pie. It didn’t look like much, but to Grace’s surprise she quite enjoyed it.
Alex tried extremely hard to be as cordial as the awkward language barrier would allow. He mostly asked Grace questions indirectly through his mother or his cousin. Sometimes, he asked things that made the adults blush and laugh; they would not relay the question to Grace in English. She could guess from their reactions exactly what sort of questions they were.
Isabelle would not stop hounding her with questions about her life. She first asked about the differences between Los Angeles and San Francisco. Grace answered to the best of her ability. She experienced these two cities in markedly different ways, but she supposed that both had similar amounts of Rich Assholes. They were just Rich in different ways and Assholes in different ways. Technically, because of where Grace’s school was located, she had spent more time in the East Bay cities, rather than San Francisco itself. But she forgave Isabelle for not knowing that, since most people only thought of one place when thinking of the Bay Area. The biggest difference, Grace pointed out, was the traffic.
Isabelle also asked about Grace’s parents, and from experience she knew what would eventually follow. She steadied herself for all the uncomfortable half-explanations that she’d have to give once Isabelle broached the topic of her disappearance. But, to Grace’s relief, Isabelle simply asked if her parents were worried about the upcoming midterm elections in the fall - since Grace’s mother is a congresswoman - and commented on how difficult the political situation in the States right now must be for everyone, especially her. How much did Isabelle know about her story, anyway? Her older sister seemed obsessed with it. Did Isabelle simply brush off her sister’s attachment as another symptom of her illness? Isabelle’s own nephew didn’t tell her much, though of course it wasn’t surprising that Simon didn’t tell anyone about what happened.
Grace wondered just how far tales of her exploits on the Train had traveled on Earth, and in what capacity did the information stay accurate? It was unlucky that many of the former Apex kids were American, though not all were, and only a handful of the American ones had parents who engaged in legal action. Some of the Apex kids had British or Australian sounding accents. A rare few had accents she could not place, though for some reason, they all spoke English. Those far-flung kids would have also made it back to Earth now, much earlier than she herself had. The American kids recognized her on the news, but perhaps America was the extent of her infamy. Was it odd that so many English-speaking passengers ended up in the same place? Did the Train somehow make it so passengers who spoke the same language were more likely to come across one another? There were so many unanswered questions that lingered in Grace’s mind, even though she had left so long ago.
________
They drove to the location of the tailgate party shortly after dinner. Grace was giddy with excitement. These parties always led to the most interesting sorts of drama, and were a welcome distraction to her problems. Her last experience at a tailgate party, near Burbank, led to her hooking up with a then C-list internet celebrity, whom she later brought crashing down by airing all of his dirty laundry online. Now, this celebrity has been officially “Twitter Cancelled.” It was for the best, as this incident was the spark that eventually led Grace to meeting the one and only Claire. Amazing, beautiful, frustrating, heartbreaking Claire. Grace sighed. She shouldn’t think about Claire now, not after what had happened. Sometimes, Grace felt like she only fell for people that were bad news.
“So, what kind of alcohol do they usually serve at these things? Do you think they have more than beer?”
Simon gave her a bemused look. “You literally have an hour and a half drive to do after this party. Why are you asking about alcohol?”
“Look, I’ll just have one or two. I won’t mix drinks.” She put on her most innocent face. He wasn’t convinced.
“Right. Of course.”
“Come on! We just had dinner! I’m not gonna get drunk on a full stomach!”
“Mmhmm.”
God, she forgot how much of a stick in the mud he was. “It’ll be fine. I’ve done it before, you know,” Grace admitted, a little sheepishly. “And I turned out fine.” She almost crashed her car into a tree that time, but she didn’t need to say that part out loud. Simon kept staring at her in disapproval.“...Jesus Christ, Grace.”
The cars congregated in a giant field outside of a farm. It was still quite light out, despite being 8:30 in the evening. This did not stop fireworks from shooting out from the crowd in the field. The people there looked rather young, most of them college aged. “Is it just me or is this crowd a bit young to be drinking?”
“The drinking age is eighteen in this province, actually.”
“Oh.”
But then he pointed out a group of people on bikes and skateboards shooting fireworks into the woods nearby. “Those kids over there are high-schoolers though.”
As soon as Grace parked, she ran towards what looked like the makeshift bar at the party. She bought a bottle of some sort of beer and drank several gulps immediately. It tasted horrible. She offered to buy Simon a drink, but he refused, muttered “you get one beer, that’s it,” and stalked off to his “cousin’s friends”. Grace shook her head when he wasn’t looking. She thought about how foolish his attitude was. Even after everything they’d been through, after nearly four years of being apart, it seemed he still didn’t trust her to take care of herself.
They approached a quieter part of the field that was a bit further from the center of the party. Ghassan spotted them and waved them over. There were several other people gathered there as well. A small Asian girl dressed in punk attire smiled widely at them, while another girl next to her, the only other black girl at this party, looked like she was ready to run away at any given moment. A stocky black guy who wore a striped polo shirt stood next to a van with a giant cooler in the trunk. He nodded to Grace as they got closer, and she nodded back. This guy exuded “in charge” energy. Grace figured he was the best person to start talking to, out of this motley crew of minorities.
“You’re the American girl, right?” From his accent, it sounded like he was Haitian. He introduced himself as Emile, and then pointed towards the bottle in her hand and shook his head.
“Don’t drink that shit, I brought us some real drinks.” He reached over to a cooler, and opened it. There was a wide assortment of hard liquor.
“Now we’re talking.” She downed the entire bottle of beer, and threw it away. Emile handed her a red solo cup, in which she poured far too much vodka than necessary, with a dash of seltzer and cranberry juice.
“Don’t get too fucked up. I brought some ‘special’ brownies as well.” He winked. “Unless you want an excuse to get out of this place.”
Was Emile flirting with her? This guy was far too cool for this party, and this entire place.
“Hmmm, I probably shouldn’t drink and get high at the same time. But it’s not like the last time I did that led to any lasting consequences.”
“You’re an adventurous one. Free-spirited. Hard to believe you came here with Nathalie’s hermit-cousin. How do you two know each other, anyway?”
“Well, that’s a long story.” Grace really didn’t want to get into it, so she shifted gears. “How the hell did you end up in a place like this? It’s cramping your style.”
He shrugged. “Well, this is just where my family decided to settle down. It’s not so bad, there’s friendly people. I’m working to save up enough money for culinary school, then I’ll ditch this place. When I open a restaurant in Montréal, you can be first on the VIP list.” Yep. Emile was too cool to be here. But Grace was thankful for his presence, because at least she could get her alcohol fix from a trustworthy source. She wondered if Simon noticed someone was flirting with her. But as she sipped her drink and turned to where he should be standing, he wasn’t there. Instead, she spotted him some feet away, deep in conversation with two people.
Grace walked over, and in one smooth motion, slid her free arm all the way across Simon’s back and over his shoulder. “Hey, aren’t you gonna introduce me to all your ‘cousin’s friends’?” She used air quotes to emphasize how silly the phrase was.
“Sorry, do you mind? I’m kind of in the middle of a conversation.”
“What are you nerds talking about?”
“Star Trek: Voyager.” Ghassan replied.
“Laaaaaaaame.” Grace drank more of her alcohol. “What, don’t you guys wanna talk about like, more recent shows or something?” The two men both shrugged and shook their heads. “Fine, whatever. I’ll go talk to cool people now.” She waited for some sort of emotional response but was greeted with more flatness. “Okay, cool.”
“Later.” She turned around and left them.
“Just don’t drink too much!”
“Shut up!”
Well, Simon wasn’t as clingy as he was in the past. This should be a good thing for Grace, but she couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she couldn’t toy with him like before. She’d just have to think of other ways to do it, or this party would be incredibly boring.
“Hey! I like your dress!” She turned to the sound of the voice. It was the punk Asian girl from before. She held a small electronic vaporizer in her hand. She had just been with the Trekkies but now she was walking towards Grace.
“Oh, thank you! It has pockets!” She shoved her hands in the dress’s roomy pockets, and the punk girl looked positively amazed.
“I think you’re right. The two of them can get very boring when they talk about Star Trek.” She took a drag from her vape. “You are Grace, correct? I’m Christine! I know you don’t speak French, but that’s okay. I can practice my English with you!” Christine extended her hand. Grace placed her hand forward as well, and Christine grabbed it and shook harder and twice as fast as a regular person’s handshake.
“You are Radiohead’s American friend, right?”
“Uh, pardon?”
“Sorry! I mean you are Simon’s friend!”
“Ah, yes. Yes I am.” Christine had given him a weird nickname, that’s how close they were. And he still believed he didn’t have any friends in town?
“Did you know him from American primary school?” Christine asked.
“No, uh… it’s complicated.”
Christine tilted her head. Then she snapped her fingers and pointed at Grace. “Oh! You two were missing together!”
Grace let out a nervous chuckle. “I guess that’s one way of putting it.” She drank some of her vodka. Maybe this was one party where she couldn’t just avoid that particular topic.
“Where are you from in America? I have never been there, and I want to know more!” Or, Christine would just not care at all, she supposed.
“I’m from Los Angeles.”
“Oh, Los Angeles! Many famous rock and metal bands from the eighties and nineties formed in that city! You must feel very lucky that your hometown is where Van Halen, Guns N’ Roses, Mötley Crüe, Slayer, and Rage Against the Machine all came from! Not to mention a lot of punk rock bands as well.” Christine smiled widely as she adjusted her glasses.
Grace was taken aback by this girl’s response. Most people would ask her about Hollywood celebrities, or if everyone there gets plastic surgery. If they did talk about music, it was either pop idols or rappers. “Have you attended any of their concerts?”
“Uhm, no, sorry.” Did Grace look like someone who listened to metal? “I’m more of a pop music kind of person?”
“That’s okay. I like K-pop. Do you listen to K-pop?”
“I guess I listen to a bit of Super Junior?”
“Super Junior is a classic. You have good taste! If you want more recent K-pop recommendations please feel free to ask me!” Christine took a long drag out of her vaporizer and exhaled a cloud of steam.
Talking to this girl was pretty exhausting. She shouted everything she said. Must be all the metal she listened to. It made Grace want to drink more, but she had already run out. She made her way back to Emile’s cooler, and Christine tagged along behind her. Grace looked over the assortment of alcohol available. A fancy bottle of rum caught her eye. It was the kind she often saw in her parents’ liquor cabinet. She decided to make herself a rum and coke. Perhaps more rum and less coke.
“I think you’re pretty cool. I don’t know why Anne-Marie didn’t want to talk to you!”
“Wait, who didn’t want to talk to me?”
“Tabarnak! I said something I shouldn’t have! Sorry! Please ignore what I said earlier!”
Anne-Marie. It could only be that shy girl. So the only other black girl didn’t want to talk to her? Well, Grace would need to show her a thing or two about sisterhood.
“Do you listen to any Canadian bands?” Christine posed the question in an attempt to change the subject.
“Not a lot. But I am going to a Duet show in Montreal this week.” Christine’s eyes grew wide. They seemed to gain stars too, although that might have been the reflection of fireworks launched by the teens. “Duet?! Oh my god you’re so lucky! I tried to get tickets but they were sold out very quickly! Duet is a legendary Canadian band!” Christine had started gesturing wildly with her arms as she spoke. Grace could hear the liquid in her vaporizer sloshing around as she gesticulated.
“Ah, so I’ve heard.” Grace took a sip of her cocktail. Damn, the rum was good. She shouldn’t have sullied it with coke. She took more sips.
“Yes! Not only is their music very good, they are uh, what is the word, ‘advocates’ for LGBTQ rights! They came out publicly during a time when it was not widely accepted. It was risky for their careers!”
“Yeah, cool. I knew that already, but thanks.” Duet was Claire’s favourite band. Grace originally purchased those tickets for her. But putting her tumultuous feelings about Claire aside, as a bisexual person, Grace was always down for supporting queer artists of colour.
“I’m sorry! I’m just a very big fan of this band.”
Grace may have been a little too dismissive to Christine. But at least there was finally a lull in conversation. She took this moment to survey where all the people at the party were. Simon was still in his stupid nerd conversation. Eventually Grace would need to step in and intervene or this party would basically be pointless. Emile and the shy girl from earlier were now talking to each other. The shy girl, Anne-Marie would sometimes look over at Grace, but turn away quickly. This was practically an invitation for Grace to go up and talk to her. She finished off her rum and coke, and decided to just fill half her cup with straight up rum.
“Did Christine trap you in a conversation about music? She could go on forever.” Emile said as Grace and Christine walked over to the two of them. He said something to Christine in French, to which she shouted a reply back in a disgruntled tone. Christine then saw Anne-Marie there, and sheepishly shrunk back while scratching her head.
“I don’t think we’ve been acquainted yet.” Grace said in the most cordial and friendly way possible. She extended a hand towards Anne-Marie. “I’m Grace, the American girl. You may have heard of me.”
“Bonsoir.” Anne-Marie didn’t look at her. She instead glared at Christine.
“Great night for a party, huh?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I really like this town. It’s so peaceful, you know?” A firework went off loudly, and Anne-Marie flinched. Hmm, poor timing on Grace’s part.
“I did not have the best time in this town growing up. I think we both know the reason for that.” Anne-Marie was straightforward, at least.
“Can I...get you something to drink?”
“No thank you. I am the designated driver.”
Alright, Grace gave it the old college try, but it was no use. After she drank all her rum, and grabbed more vodka, she turned to the more talkative people. It seemed another person had joined their little gathering. A scrawny redhead with thick glasses.
“Oh my god, it’s you!” The scrawny redhead pointed a shaky finger at her, his mouth agape. Grace had lost track of how much she drank at this point, so her tolerance for high energy people was now at an all time low.
“Um, who the fuck are you?”
“You’re Grace Monroe! The girl who went missing for eight years! Holy shit! I need to take a picture of this moment. I need to interview you for my blog!” He was absolutely ecstatic as he fumbled around for his phone, its case adorned with a UFO that had “I want to believe” written below it. Grace felt a sinking feeling. This guy must be one of those paranormal investigations people. No one else in the world believed that people all over the country were being abducted by an interdimensional train, save for these guys.
“Kevin, stop being a weirdo!” Christine shouted at him. “Pay Kevin no mind. He’s the Weird Anglophone Kid.” Grace had to take a moment to laugh at the title these Quebecers had given their one English-speaking friend. Christine then told Kevin to back off from Grace, and he slinked to the side, texting wildly into his phone. He must be alerting all the netizens about his lucky break. As if Grace would ever confirm any of their wild theories.
“I didn’t think he would show up today, I thought he went back to London this week.” Emile said.
Grace raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Kevin’s from London?”
“No no no. Not the Good London. Kevin is from London, Ontario,” Christine clarified with a loud cackle. Ah, that makes a lot more sense.
“So, how do you all know each other?” Grace asked.
Christine was the first to answer. “I am best friends with Anne-Marie, and we are also both best friends with Nathalie, who is Radiohead’s cousin. It’s strange that he’s here when Nathalie is not, because he only comes when she forces him!” She kept using that dumb nickname. Grace will have to keep that in mind when she teased Simon about it later. “We all went to school with Kevin and Emile. But Emile is a couple of years older than us. His brother was the same age as us but he moved to the city for university, just like Nathalie. Ghassan is Emile’s friend from college but he is also our friend because we play Dungeons & Dragons together!” She finished her explanation with an excited flourish from her hands.
“Do you guys go to college, er, university?”
“I was taking a gap year because I wanted to study out of the province. I will be moving to Ottawa in September!” Christine pumped her fist in the air, and then adjusted her glasses. “Anne-Marie already got into university last year. She delayed going because her father got sick and she needed to manage his store.”
Anne-Marie muttered something to Christine, and the other girl got all apologetic again. She must have yet again said something she shouldn’t have said. “It’s okay! I think you can start university this year if you leave Radiohead in charge of the hardware store!”
“Christine!” Anne-Marie crossed her arms and glared at her friend.
Christine covered her mouth frantically and went into panic mode. “Oh! Est-ce que je viens de dire ça en anglais? Désolée! Désolée!”
This precipitated an argument. Maybe Grace should have taken French for her language credit. She bet that whatever those girls were saying to each other would make for some very juicy gossip, if only she could understand it. She left them alone and stepped aside with Emile. He was probably the only sane person here. They engaged in more of their semi-flirty chatting, as she made herself another drink. If Grace couldn’t get what she wanted out of Simon, she would get it out of Emile.
“Look, why don’t I just give you the entire bottle of Smirnoff at this point?” Emile pointed out with a wry laugh. She raised the bottle up to the headlights, as the sun had finally set. Indeed, it was almost all gone.
“Hey, if you can handle me after I’ve had an entire bottle of this shit, then I’m definitely giving you my number.”
“If you can even remember your number.” Oh, this guy was good. “But if I’m not mistaken, aren’t you Simon’s girl?” But he had to go and ruin it.
“Nah. We’re just friends. He ditched me anyway so, fuck him.” She shrugged and downed the rest of the vodka straight from the bottle. Emile lit a blunt next to her, and the smell made her stomach feel a bit weird. She stared up into the sky as she thought over whether she should make a move on him or not. The evening sky was clear, with only a few stray wispy clouds among a dazzling number of stars. The view was only interrupted by errant fireworks. It was always nice to get out of the city, if only so she could see the night sky. She thought about the quaint little town in the afternoon, and how charmingly idyllic it was. She tried to picture herself here. Waking up to the sound of songbirds, walking along the lake every morning. It’d be a dream. But no one she’d met so far wanted to stay. She was from the city and longed for the countryside, but everyone here longed for the city.
“Sorry about earlier.” Well, look who came crawling back to her. “The conversation went on a bit longer than I thought. We got hung up on continuity errors.”
“Aw, and here I thought you forgot about me for Captain Kirk.” She teased in a sing-song voice, and placed her hand on the small of his back.
“Voyager’s captain is actually Kathryn Janew-whoa!” She pulled him in, leaned close to his face, and stared into his deep blue eyes, which kept darting away from her. His initial confusion quickly turned into concern.
“Are you okay?” His gaze narrowed. “Did you just finish an entire bottle of vodka?”
She thought back to when she first opened the bottle, and asked herself if it was full. She couldn’t remember, and decided it most likely wasn’t. She stepped back and shrugged in an exaggerated fashion, raising both her hands in the air, one of them clutching the empty Smirnoff bottle.
“Grace, what the hell?” She blew a raspberry at him, and did a light pirouette to prove that she wasn’t drunk. It made her head just a tad woozy. Simon tried to retort, but instead just facepalmed. “You weren’t planning on driving back to Montreal tonight were you?” Ah, so he finally caught on.
“I was, but look at how interesting all your friends are! How could I possibly not stay and hang out with them?” She took his hand and dragged him over to where the rest of the group was standing. “Hey, let’s do shots!” Everyone, save for Designated Driver Anne-Marie raised their solo cups in the air and downed them. “And while we’re at it, why don’t I tell you all about the embarrassing stuff this guy here did as a kid?”
And so she did. Simon turned redder and redder, and his body got tenser and tenser, with every anecdote. She left out all of the outlandish details, and the more unsavoury aspects, but the gist of the embarrassing stories were all intact. She exposed him to all his friends. He deserved it, after all. And she could tell by how quiet he stayed that he knew he deserved it. But it was still painful for him, and that was all she needed. The vast majority of them reacted with amusement. But one of his friends was not laughing with them.
“Hey Simon! You told me you didn’t know Grace!” It was Weird Kevin.
“What? When did I say that?” He sounded genuinely confused. Grace could always tell when other people faked their reactions.
“During prom! Don’t you remember?”
He glanced aside, furrowing his brows in a vain attempt to recall that conversation. Then he shook his head. “No.”
“I asked you about how you and Grace were reported ‘found’ by the police on the same day, but you told me it was only a coincidence!”
“Okay?”
“But everybody told me you invited her to this party!”
“I didn’t invite her, she invited herself. I didn’t even want to come to this party!”
“Well you still clearly know her! And she just said she knew you as a kid!” Kevin looked distraught, but only because of his precious theories, and not because of his friendship. “Why did you lie to me?”
“I barely knew you back then!” Simon threw his arms up and groaned in frustration. “You know what, I don’t owe you an explanation. What gives you the right to snoop around in other people’s lives?” He stalked off towards the woods.
Kevin took this opportunity to walk up to Grace. “So, can I still interview you for my blog?”
“Um, no? Fuck off maybe?”
Grace spotted Simon smoking a joint while leaning against a tree. She doubted the weed would have had any effect calming his nerves. “Are you satisfied now?” He asked without looking up, as she walked up to him.
“Chill out, dude. This is what parties are for.”
“That’s why I didn’t want to come today. I should have known you were going to bring up the past.” He buried his face in his free hand. “I mean how could you not? You’re drunk, and I’ve got a laundry list of fuck-ups. God, I don’t know why the fuck I believed you when you said you weren’t upset with me anymore.”
“I’m only marginally drunk, and I’m not upset with you. And come on, I didn’t reveal much of anything. I’m super good at hiding things.”
“Well you revealed enough that Kevin caught on.”
“I’ve dealt with people like Kevin. He’s not gonna do much of anything. Nobody believes people like him. Even when they’re really close to the actual truth.”
“No, I know that. But I still don’t like that he found out anyway.” He placed the joint to his lips, took a long drag, and exhaled. He stared forlornly into the air as the smoke dissipated. “Maybe I shouldn’t have let it get this far. I should have just told everyone in the first place. I’ve been living a lie this whole time.”
Grace was getting real tired of his self-flagellating brand of melodrama.
“Please, the less people that know, the better. That’s how these things always go.” She had to admit that one conspiracy theorist guy was definitely a variable she didn’t account for, but that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Surely he knew that, right? “You carry the burden of your mistakes by yourself. Telling people is a trap.”
Grace drank more alcohol, now whisky, from her solo cup. Her head was feeling fuzzy. Maybe she was getting drunk.
“But… it isn’t fair for them to offer me their friendship when they don’t have any idea of what I’ve done.”
“That is the most insane thing I’ve ever heard.” She was so done with him at this point.
“What do you mean?” he asked. “Don’t I owe it to my friends, my family, to tell them the truth?”
Grace downed her drink, threw the cup away, and stepped right up to Simon. She grabbed his half-finished joint, tossed it on the ground, and stepped on it. She placed her index finger in the middle of his chest.
“Do you have a single ounce of self-preservation? You do realize the more people you tell, the harder your life becomes, right? You wanna get scrutinized to within an inch of your life? What, do you want those fucking parents handing out lawsuits at you? Honestly, while having my parents’ lawyers behind my back definitely helped, I only got off scott-free because the kids had positive memories of me. You think that’d be the case for you?” She laughed dryly, and maybe a little too hard at his look of guilt.
“Let’s face it. You and I are the only people on this fucking planet who will ever understand what the other has been through. Nobody else will be able to come close to understanding. Not even if they’ve been a passenger before!” Tears started forming in the corner of her eyes. She brushed them away with a swipe of her arm. “We don’t have anybody else.”
He stared at her, wide-eyed. For the first time since she arrived, he looked her in the eyes. He nodded. He understood why she was here. Keeping her hand on his chest, Grace placed the other against the tree, and leaned forward. He was trapped, he couldn’t go anywhere, he had to accept what was happening. Once her face was only an inch from his, she tilted her chin up, and planted her lips on his.
Simon’s facial hair irritated her skin, and his breath tasted like weed, but hers probably reeked of alcohol, so it was fair. It wasn’t the first time they kissed. They were just kids the first time, fumbling around, not knowing anything. They didn’t have the history, or the context, back then. This kiss was different. Perhaps it was because they were both intoxicated now, but this moment felt right to her. He must be feeling the same way. She could sense just how much he longed for this moment, in the way his arms naturally made their way around her as she leaned further in.
Just as she was about to reach under his sweater, the sound of a car revving in the distance interrupted them. A large black sedan, most likely modified so that the mufflers were removed, had pulled into the field.
“Oh no.”
“Who’s that?”
“Bad news.”
They ran back towards the field, to where Simon’s friends were gathered. It seemed that was where the car decided to stop too. The engine cut out, and a pasty-faced young man emerged from the driver’s seat, clad in all black. This guy could only be described as having massive edgelord energy, with his long leather coat a size too big, and the audacity to wear sunglasses at night.
The edgelord glanced over the crowd, and his eyes settled on Christine. He marched over, trying to keep up his cool facade, but everyone could see the temper simmering under his leathery surface. He shouted her name, and Christine froze like a deer in the headlights. Despite her shock, she faced him with an indignant glare. This started a heated argument.
“What is going on? Does this guy know her?”
“That’s Marc, Christine’s ex. He’s a giant shithead. Lately he’s been going around picking fights with people on a whim.”
The edgelord, Marc, kept invading Christine’s personal space every time he spoke, and she could only respond by backing further away from him. It was clear that despite the strong front Christine was putting up, she was afraid of him.
“What are they saying?”
“He’s upset that she’s going to leave the province for school. She’s trying to tell him that her decision has nothing to do with him and that he should just leave her alone. Now he’s saying she’s a traitor. That she should never have learned English because those English speakers filled her head with lies, and that’s why she left him.”
“What in the actual fuck?”
As Grace gaped at the scene before her, a disconcerting feeling picked at her insides. Something about it felt so familiar. A faint buzzing hummed in her head.
“He’s got a whole host of issues, the primary one being his fixation on Christine. But he’s also quite the… extremist. His worldview is pretty… absolute. And he delights in being a provocateur.” He paused with unease before he continued. “Let’s just say I’ve also seen him around with a MAGA hat.”
The knowledge struck Grace like a lead bullet. “Oh… oh no.”
The confrontation was escalating. Christine’s friends gathered around her, and tried to put some distance between her and Marc. Anne-Marie held Christine’s hand and joined in on yelling at Marc. This whole thing was starting to attract the attention of the other partygoers.
“Should we do something? We should do something, right?”
“You should stay put, we’ll handle this.”
The three guys from before, Ghassan, Emile, and Kevin, were now standing between Marc and Christine. They spoke at him calmly, not wanting to pick a fight. Not that Marc stood a chance if a fight broke out anyway, unless he was only going to take on Kevin solo. Simon went to where the two girls were to make sure Christine was okay. Then along with Anne-Marie, they led her away from Marc while he was being distracted by the others. It was only after he left her side that Grace realized they had been holding hands, and now the absence lingered in the dissipating warmth on her palm. As more people joined in on spectating the shitshow, Grace felt more exposed than ever before. The buzzing in her head grew louder.
Grace turned her attention to Marc again. It appeared that he had said something insulting to Ghassan, as Ghassan’s normally friendly demeanor was gone and he scowled menacingly at Marc. He walked up to him, using his superior height as a means to intimidate him from saying anything else. The spectators that gathered became restless. However, Ghassan stepped back and placed his hands on his hips. There would be no fight. Now that the argument had ceased too, there would no longer be anything to see.
But Marc wasn’t finished. Once he realized Christine was gone, he became desperate. If he couldn’t take out his pent up anger on his ex-girlfriend, then he’d have to take it out on somebody else. His bespectacled gaze stopped in Grace’s direction. He approached her, coat trailing behind him with all the pomp and swagger of damp tissue paper. Marc screamed something forcefully at her. Grace heard him say “Christine”, probably thinking she knew where that girl had gone.
“I don’t know!” she replied in a panic. He kept shouting, feeling encouraged by the knowledge that she didn’t speak or understand French. From the way the onlookers reacted, he might have said something gravely insulting to her, perhaps even outright offensive, but she didn’t understand at all. Grace was overwhelmed with nausea. She felt like the inside of an untuned television. The liquor had caught up with her, and she was unsure what was even happening anymore. Were the others still with her? The only presence she could feel was a mounting pressure pushing down on her, blocking all of her senses and filling her up with static.
Suddenly, someone grabbed Marc from the side, and shoved him hard. He stumbled backwards, a bit stunned by the unexpected use of force. Simon had reappeared.
This snapped Grace back to reality. She tried to run to him, but they were getting cordoned off by a circle of onlookers eager for a fight to break loose. Some of the audience were goading them on with taunts. This was the opportunity that Marc was looking for. He’d be able to let out his pent up anger in an actual, physical fight. Simon sensed his rash eagerness, and sternly warned him to back off. Marc did not heed the warning. He lunged forward to throw a punch, but Simon simply stepped to the side, and Marc stumbled. Not deterred, Marc threw several more punches.
His form wasn’t poor, despite all his unfocused anger. That guy must have taken classes, or had experience fighting. But all the punches missed. On his last punch, Simon grabbed his arm with one hand, the back of his coat with the other, and used the momentum of the whiffed punch to turn him around and remove his coat. Marc was thrown to the ground, a few feet away. Apparently not even the reflex-dulling effects of weed could dull eight years of battle-hardened survival instincts. Simon tossed Marc’s stupid coat aside. He crossed his arms, shook his head, and said something to Marc in French. The crowd jeered.
Simon was ready to leave. He began to make his way to the edge of the ring of spectators with his hands in his pockets. Behind him, Marc stood up again. He reached for something clipped onto his belt, a shiny black object. A blade flashed in the firelight. Stunned murmurs broke out from the people around them.
“Look out! He’s got a knife!”
Simon turned around and dodged in the nick of time. The knife only grazed his sweater sleeve, slashing a tear into it. He looked at the cut with annoyance. Marc had now annoyed him. He reached for Marc’s arm again, but the other guy had wizened up to that move. He quickly tossed the knife into his other hand and swung it at Simon’s head. As Simon ducked out of the way, the knife sliced through the elastic holding his man-bun in place.
As his hair fell down, and Marc laughed, Simon’s expression changed. Grace could tell he was done bullshitting. He straightened up, elbowed Marc straight in the jaw, and then twisted his arm so that he dropped the knife. Marc cried out in pain. He kicked the knife away, grabbed Marc’s other arm, and twisted them both behind him. He then pushed into Marc, slamming him against Marc’s black sedan. He held Marc there, writhing, struggling to get free. Marc managed to turn around so he was facing Simon, but that was most likely because Simon allowed him to. Marc received several more punches to his face, and one to his gut, as he was still pinned against his car. His face was now bloodied and bruised. Marc crumpled weakly to the ground.
Simon staggered a few steps backwards. He stared at his shaking hands. He had gone too far.
He looked around. The crowd was dissipating now. He spotted some of his friends from town, the ones that stayed behind. They gaped at him in disbelief. It was clear that none of them had ever seen this side of him before. He became withdrawn and self-conscious again. He tugged at his sleeve, covering up the small tear. He turned to Grace apprehensively.
As their gaze met, her vision swam. Simon’s image blurred, and a different version of him flashed in her mind. His past self, clad in black, a wicked sneer on his face, his exposed skin covered with glowing numbers. The static consumed her being. She clutched her stomach and threw up.